


December Twenty-Third

by Sanj



Series: Summer and Winter [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-01
Updated: 2006-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanj/pseuds/Sanj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus has limits to his patience. Harry never had any patience to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December Twenty-Third

Remus hated a gibbous moon. Waxing just short of full, it pulled at his blood in a way Severus Snape's foul concoctions could never quite ease. It taunted and seduced, promising release. It lied.

Had he been curled up safely in Sirius' ruin with a pot of tea and Alastor Moody's dubious charms, he would have been fine, honestly. Instead he was out on a brutally cold night promising Conner Riding's gathering of werewolves that the Ministry would give them concessions if they allied with Dumbledore in the war.

He felt like a one-sickle whore. Even with that cow Umbridge gibbering in St. Mungo's, her measures had still passed, which meant the chances of these individuals earning their rights as human beings were somewhere between nil and zero, and everyone at Riding's long table knew it.

He didn't blame them for the general attitude of skepticism. He considered himself fortunate just to have a few names to bring back to the Order. Eva Lowell. Marcus Ulbrecht. Jedidiah Smythe. A newly-made female called January Hall. Half the gathering, including Conner Riding himself, had allowed that they would be open to further discussion with the Order of the Phoenix.

"We'll not deal with the Ministry," Conner scowled.

"Fuck the Ministry," Remus said sincerely. "It's Albus Dumbledore you can count on."

"And if he loses, then You-Know-Who will have the Ministry," said Eva Lowell, "and there isn't any chance for us at all."

Remus nodded. "Eva has it," he said to Conner. "It's silver bullets for the lot of us once the Death Eaters are in control."

Conner sat back and stroked his beard, looking at the tears in the eyes of Eva, his wife. Remus disliked the words the gathering would use: Alpha female. Mate. Sirius had chided him about it more than once: _try calling people what they want to be called, instead of forcing the whole world to go your way._

Seeing that that advice had come from Sirius Black, of all people, he'd felt free to ignore it.

"We'll think on it," Conner said, and with that most of the gathering dispersed, leaving only those few Remus was certain were interested in hearing more. "Stay with us, if you like," Conner added, "for the moon."

"I'm flattered," Remus said, "but it's Christmas and I have family to attend to." Michael Ulbrecht and his wife both snarled at this and backed away so quickly that Eva muttered something at Ulbrecht's wife.

Growled it, if Remus were being honest. "Have I offended?" he asked Conner and Eva as deferentially as possible.

"The humans only give you crumbs off the table, like you were their dog," said Eva, and she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You deserve better, Remus. Good night." And she went with the Ulbrechts; Remus could hear her chastising them for being rude to a guest.

"I have true friends in the Order," Remus said, thinking as hard of his still-living friends as he could.

"Do they run with you?" Riding asked, half-rhetorically, and Remus wondered if the inward flinch he felt had showed on his face.

"They did," Remus said, and saw the surprise in Conner's eyes. "They did, Conner. Now I keep my mind when I change."

"Wolfsbane is a slow poison," said January Hall quietly, "and it will kill you." She was new-made, and the omega of the gathering, but Remus remembered hearing that she'd been a healer until she'd been bitten at St. Mungo's.

"I thank you for the caution," he said, realizing he was being ostentatiously polite to an omega, but valuing her skills. "It's worth it to me to test it until a less toxic form of the potion can be formulated."

"Some of us don't want to be treated," Smythe said, but Conner knocked him casually on the head.

"That's a load of shite. No one wants this for their kids, Remus. No one wants to turn anyone."

"You just want to run," Remus said. "I do understand. I had an Animagus for a partner. We ran together."

"What happened?" Conner asked.

"The Death Eaters killed him in June," Remus relied with unnatural calm, holding Smythe's eye as he said it. Homosexual liaisons were common enough among gatherings, and Remus was fairly sure he still knew a fellow poof when he saw one.

Sure enough, Smythe tilted his head almost imperceptibly to one side, just so, and stood back from his former aggressive stance. The others murmured _I'm sorry_ and _oh, how awful,_ but Smythe just held his eye in a kind of grudging sympathy.

"The offer stands," Conner said. "Any time you'd like to answer the moon instead of hide from her."

"I'll keep it in mind. Give my thanks to Eva." He shook Conner's hand and wished Hall a Happy Christmas.

But it was Smythe that walked Remus past the gathering's wards and through the Forest. "You should know," he said. "You-Know-Who's goon Avery was skulking around here a fortnight ago. He promised us a lot of what Dumbledore's offering: jobs, rights, a cure."

Remus felt a pit open in his stomach. "What'd you tell him?"

"Conner told him we weren't interested in bending over for the Death Eaters. It'd mean giving into darkness, losing what family we've got. But he said he wasn't interested in working with the Ministry neither."

"I don't blame you," Remus said honestly.

"Then why do it?"

"I'm with Dumbledore. He's given me a lot of chances and I owe him. So if he's working with the Ministry for now, I promise not to eat them."

"For now," Smythe grinned.

"It's a near thing, sometimes." The admission came easily; it was good to talk honestly with someone who truly understood, unlike Albus, who never could.

"That it is," Smythe agreed. He pulled his head back just a little, giving Remus a long, appraising look.

"I'm not bending over for you, either," Remus said, feeling a smile crack his face.

"You needn't," Smythe said, all but sniffing Remus's skin, and backing away when he saw what must have been a startled look. "We all get a bit odd right about now. Come back at the new moon, if you want to discuss it as men."

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, shaking Smythe's hand, and then Apparated home, such as it was.

He hated gatherings.

* * *

With the arrival of Harry, Hermione, and a gaggle of Weasleys two days before, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place actually looked more the part of home. Though he knew it was mostly imagination, he fancied he heard the sound of unhurried heartbeats, and felt the warmth of other humans taking the chill from Sirius' first and last prison.

God, gatherings made him maudlin. Especially Conner's; it would have been his own, had he chosen to go that way instead of becoming Albus Dumbledore's assimilationist pet. A choice he'd never made, really -- like so many other choices in his life, not foisted upon him but rather simply _happening_.

As one of two Order members on duty at all hours, he had a suite of rooms -- the guest suite, not the abandoned master -- on the second floor of Number Twelve. It had among its attempted neo-Gothic decor a very comforting bath, and Remus took his time in it, washing off the mud-musk scent of werewolves who lived too close to the moon.

He was still drying his hair when he heard the soft knock at the door. Shrugging into his tattered dressing gown, he cracked the door open, confirmed his suspicion, and let Harry silently inside.

Harry was in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt for some faded Muggle band. His hair was rucked up even more than was normal for him, and he held in his hands a mug of mulled wine. "Thought you might still be awake," he said, handing Remus the wine, which he was balancing with a small parcel in his other hand. "How did it go?"

"It went reasonably well. Also, I got propositioned. Thanks for this," he said, indicating the wine, and then nodded his head to the low couch in the suite's sitting room. The wine was exactly what he wanted, pulling the December chill further out of his bones and grounding him, somehow, against the moonlit room.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry shrugged, perching on the couch's arm. "She said to made sure I gave it to you."

"Molly's good at looking after us," Remus said, sitting down next to Harry and stretching out his legs. "I'm selfish enough to wish she were here all year round."

"I reckon it gets awful here," said Harry. "Really, it still feels lonely, even with everyone."

"I wanted to thank you for that," said Remus. "Coming here for Christmas. I know you would rather --"

Harry spoke over him. "I'm only allowed here and school, and they won't let you go back to Hogwarts, so --"

"So thank you for choosing to spend your holiday with me. Your company is a real gift, especially with a Christmas moon to endure."

"I couldn't imagine you spending it all alone here with Mad-Eye." Harry said. "And anyway," he said, biting his lip, "Anyway, I wanted to see you."

And there it was, hanging between them in a way Remus' most avuncular tone couldn't deny or banish. "I've missed you too," he admitted quietly, liking the way relief showed in Harry's eyes.

How could he have mistaken them for Lily's? That mouth was nothing like James', either; the uncertain bite followed by an unconscious lick that James, straight to the core, would never have let slip.

Remus took a deep breath and, with it, control of his thoughts. "Still," he said, "you're up late. Are you still having troubles with insomnia?"

Harry made a soft sound, neither sniff nor snort. "In this house?"

"Fair enough."

"I..." Harry took a breath; Remus admitted to himself that he liked seeing Harry this nervous. "I brought, well, it's stupid, but I thought, you won't have much of a Christmas morning, and I thought I'd give you your present now, so you could --"

Remus felt an almost uncontrollable surge of gratitude. "Harry," he said. "That's... very thoughtful. Thank you." He slid his hand onto Harry's cheek, caressed it with his thumb. The gulf of age between them disappeared for half a moment.

He stood abruptly and went into the small pile of presents he'd wrapped the night before, planning to give them to Molly for the childrens' bedsides. The _children_, he reminded himself firmly, and extracted Harry's two thoroughly age-inappropriate gifts from the pile. "Books, I'm afraid," he said, grinning apologetically.

"You always pick good ones," Harry said, and handed Remus the small parcel, wrapped in tissue paper. "Go on, then," he said, and Remus was struck again by the maturity of a young man who would rather see a friend's gift opened than rip open a present for himself.

He unwrapped the package, knowing even as he opened the box that it was a magical artifact, and a well-made one. He drew breath to chastise Harry for spending far too much money, but it became clear as he opened it that the gift had been made especially for him, and he held his tongue.

It was a protective amulet, designed usually to protect children or loved ones from Dark magic and Dark creatures. The one he held in his hands had been cast in amber, rather than the traditional silver, and he felt no ill effect from it; it was solid protective magic, carved with the thorn rune, _thurisaz_. It tied to the throat with a collar made of hemp. "Harry," he breathed. "You made this yourself."

"We did amulets in Defense early this term," he said. "Professor Murry's all right, for an American. I did this one for extra credit; I wanted one that you could wear, since they're usually silver and carry charms --"

"And are soaked in a tincture of aconite for an entire lunar cycle."

Harry grinned. "So you still know more than I do," he said, entirely without rancor.

"I'm not sure I would have thought to make this. It's good work. I can feel it. It's solid. I hope Murry gave you full marks."

"And extra credit." Something like a smirk lurked in the corner of his mouth.

"Like you need it," Remus said warmly. "Go on then, open that one," he said, indicating the smaller, fatter volume.

Harry tore it open, not needing to be told twice. "Wow," he muttered, reading the cover: _Blood and Bond: On the Binding and Blood Magics of the Traditions of Europe: Theory and Practice_. "Remus," he said slowly, "you can go to prison for buying this."

"Not if you bought it in Romania ten years ago, when it was legal," Remus said. "I did check with Tonks before I gave it to you. It's illegal to buy or sell, but not to own or give as a gift. I thought it might be of use."

"It's exactly what I need, and the Room of Requirement won't give it to me. I've seen three references to it --"

"You're reading references? Hermione would be so proud of you."

"Well," he shrugged, "it's Defense. I'm motivated, you know?"

"I do know," he said, and they considered each other for a long moment.

"Go on, then," Remus said recklessly, "open the other. Which I would have given to you in private, mind, even if you hadn't come tonight."

Harry opened it more slowly. "Oh, cool," he breathed, unwrapping _Wizard to Wizard: Gay Culture in Wizarding Britain_.

"It's mostly interviews with couples and a few --"

"It's got pictures in the back," Harry said slyly, leafing through the moving diagrams. "Dark magic and porn. This is the best Christmas ever."

Remus couldn't help but laugh at that, long and loud, and then he turned his amulet over in his hand. "It's not either, really."

"No, it's blood magic and educational literature," Harry said, mimicking Hermione with flawless ease. "Thank you," he said, more seriously. "I'm going to get a lot out of both of them."

Remus nodded, pleased. "Put this on for me?" He handed Harry the amulet and slid around so that he was sitting on the cushion next to Harry's perch.

Harry fastened the amulet on quickly enough, but his fingers rested on Remus's neck, and a light kiss followed them, on the side of his throat. "Who hit on you?" Harry asked, his low voice almost a whisper in Remus' ear.

"Beautiful werewolf maidens," he lied.

"Like you'd even notice." Harry's hand moved to his hair, stroked it. "Hermione's had a crush on you since third year."

This was, in truth, news. "Really?"

"Yeah." Another kiss fell on his throat. "Of course, so did I."

"Don't." Remus turned slightly away, aroused beyond his patience. "That's all this is, Harry. It's a crush. A very flattering one, granted --"

"No," Harry said. "I mean, I know every sixteen-year-old kid who says 'it's not a crush' is automatically not taken seriously --"

"I take this very seriously--"

"Listen to me." Remus had had no notion that Harry was capable of such intensity. It reminded him of Albus, oddly enough. That same certainty of command. "You said to wait and I've been waiting. I've been with people my own age, like you said. I'm listening to you, all right? So listen to me when I say I know how I feel when it's a crush and this feels different." He slid onto the couch next to Remus and laid a hand on his stomach. "This is me being a gay man and wanting you."

He let himself touch Harry's face and got his palm kissed; he pulled Harry's glasses off, still seeing nothing of Lily in that steady gaze. Harry blinked once and licked his lips again.

Remus let go of his tenuous grasp on self-control and kissed that mouth until they were both gasping.

Sixteen. "Go to bed." Remus's voice was barely audible, even to himself.

"Can't. Ron's got Hermione in our room."

"So you thought you'd just seduce me?" Remus wasn't certain whether to be offended or amused.

"I figured we could transfigure the couch, at least," Harry countered. "But to be honest, I'd rather seduce you."

"You are _underage_," Remus said, hauling Harry off the couch and transfiguring it into a small bed. "Molly would kill me. And she's a friend I'd like to keep. Rather than have her be responsible for my untimely castration."

Harry winced. "Yeah," he said. "All right. I won't tease you."

"It's not that I don't want to," Remus said quietly, his voice shaking, "or that I think you're unready. You're ready."

"I'm really ready," Harry grinned.

"Shhh."

Harry took a deep breath. "I wouldn't tell anyone."

"That's worse," Remus said. "You should tell anyone you want to. Knowing that there would be consequences, yes, but -- God, I would really feel like a child molester if I told you to keep it secret."

"You're not telling me," Harry said. "I'm choosing to keep quiet about this, because I can make adult choices." He looked away, suddenly. "More or less."

Remus was certain, with a chill, of what Harry was thinking. "How many times are we all going to have to tell you that at least a dozen people are responsible for Sirius's death, myself included, and not least of all Sirius himself?"

"I just -- I'm putting my foot in my mouth." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, and in that one movement reminded Remus so powerfully of Sirius that he thought he might die of it, a sympathetic magic. "You loved him," Harry said. "And he never said anything about it. You were with him."

"Yes," Remus said quietly. "He was working up to telling you. He wasn't sure how you'd take it, considering whatever rubbish the Dursleys put into your head about sex."

"I figured it was something like that," Harry said. "I was mad at him for being ashamed of you."

"He wasn't," Remus said quietly. "Never that. I'm not saying things weren't very complicated, because they were...."

"I wanted him," Harry said, as though the admission had slipped out of him. Remus caught Harry's hand halfway to Harry's mouth and pulled it aside. He dove for that mouth and kissed him again, grief and lust mingled, and it was just too close to the moon, and Harry was too old and too young and was made up of wanting, wanting something so very simple that Remus alone could give him.

"Please," said Harry softly. "Please, I need this and I trust you. I only trust you."

And Remus hated that he was that easy to manipulate, that the keys to his psyche were hanging out there for anyone with a reasonable grasp of the human heart to steal, but he was undone nevertheless, and when Harry tugged at the belt of his dressing gown, he didn't stop him.

Harry knelt in less than a second, bringing Remus' erection into his mouth, and still Remus didn't pull away. There was no force in the world that would let him, he thought, curling a hand into Harry's hair. No way to resist this, and he'd already resisted once --

But he didn't want to be that man. The man that things just happened to. He wasn't going to be seduced into giving way to a child. Not this child, surely. Not in this.

"Don't," he managed to gasp, even as Harry's tongue teased the head of his cock. "Stop," he said, stepping away from the boy, as startled by his own rejection as Harry looked.

"I'm sorry," Harry said immediately, one hand flying to touch Remus's stomach again.

"Just don't." Remus was surprised at his own rage, and just as surprised by the cold sense of loss that followed it. He turned to walk into his own room, leaving a strangely cowed Harry still on his knees --

"I'm sorry," said Harry, standing behind him, lightning-fast, and laying a hand on his arm. "I didn't. I just.... I'm sorry, Remus. Don't be angry. Please."

Harry didn't know the rules, did he? Remus felt the flare of emotion subside. "It's all right," he said. "Harry. When two men.... " No. "Look. I need you to ask me, not take hold of me like that."

That brought the light back into Harry's eyes, quick enough. "Can I, then?"

And Remus closed his eyes against that grin. He took a deep breath and asked himself what he should do in this situation. He asked the phalanx of ghosts in his head, all arrayed for this boy's protection. He asked himself what a good man would do, were that man not also a depressed, craven werewolf on the edge of a moral breakdown.

And those ghosts, that man, that monster -- all agreed that Remus should, at the least, see Harry's naked body and consider carefully what was on offer. "Take your clothes off."

Harry blinked at him a moment, as if resisting the urge to ask why, but he didn't hesitate. He pulled off his t-shirt and revealed (thank Merlin) a young man's chest, black hair surrounding two brown nipples and tracing a neat line down to his stomach.

Remus's lips were dry. "Pants."

Harry responded by pushing Remus' dressing gown back over his shoulder. "You, too," he said. Their voices were hushed, but Remus cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door anyway, and locked it with a flick of his wand.

"Smart," Harry approved.

"Pants," Remus said again.

Harry complied, still searching Remus's eyes for an explanation. His cock jutted forth from a tangle of black curls. There was youth in him, yes, all lean muscle and tireless grace. But there was nothing pubescent about him.

Remus closed his eyes and breathed out relief. "Come to bed," he said, "if you like." He turned and went toward the bedroom.

Harry followed, his tread so soft that Remus almost missed it.

* * *

Harry wasn't quite certain that he'd broken Remus down. He'd half expected to be hexed into his makeshift bed, or turned out into the hallway, and told, again, _five more years,_ or some other stupid arbitrary period of time that didn't take into account the fact that Remus or he could easily be dead, _tomorrow_. And that the odds of them living until Harry was "old enough," whatever that was, were somewhere below the likelihood of Argus Filch getting laid by somebody other than his cat.__

It was a testament to exactly how hot Remus looked, dressing gown left in a pile back in the sitting room, that Harry could even think of Filch having sex and still be harder than he'd ever even imagined being in his life.

It was more and better even than kissing Remus in August, better than Oliver Wood tossing him off in the broom shed, far better than his weekly meetings with Zacharias Smith's practically disembodied cock, thrusting into his mouth even as Zacharias reminded Harry for the twentieth time that he wasn't gay.

Remus seemed to be fighting for self control, and Harry was determined that he should lose. "I didn't finish sucking you off," he said.

Remus grinned and held out his hand, pulling Harry onto the bed. "We can't have that," he said, and kissed Harry, long and deep, almost painfully. Giving him no quarter.

Harry didn't want any; he wanted to take anything Remus could give him. He worked his way down Remus' body, fingers and lips tracing every scar, starting at the wicked silver tear at his shoulder, following down the scratches and thin white scars on his chest and stomach. He seemed to have none of his original skin, but to be made almost entirely of scars. They were sensitive, Harry noticed: Remus gasped as he licked his way across each one.

Harry was afraid to speak, afraid that every time he wanted to say _you're so hot_, or _I think I love you_ would mark him down in Remus's eyes as an inexperienced child, or worse, one Remus had to tutor in the language of lovemaking. So Harry just held the silence inside of him, aware that Remus, too, seemed unwilling to talk, and slid his mouth back over Remus's prick instead.

He was big. He made Zacharias look like a kid; Harry wasn't going to get Smith off anymore, not after this. Harry enjoyed sucking cock, had always felt made for it, in a way not unlike flying or running or dueling -- except that in this one case, he didn't have to play anybody to win. He just had to pour himself on Remus like water, and give Remus whatever he needed.

God. If Remus even knew what that was. But his hand was in Harry's hair, and he thrust up, eagerly enough, starting to fuck Harry's mouth so hard that Harry felt himself gag, and he pulled off reflexively. Damn it.

Remus was instantly attentive, sitting up and pulling Harry to him. "All right?" he asked, and not in a way that was even remotely professorial. Kissing Harry's throat. It was okay.

"All right," Harry managed between gasps. And since the silence was broken, he slid a hand around Remus' cock. "I think you should fuck me with this."

"Do you?" Remus sounded amused. "It's not a bad idea. Have you --"

"Oliver Wood," Harry said, and Remus pulled Harry over and began to toss him off with one large, callused hand. Harry groaned.

"Tell me," said Remus, his hand not letting up. "Oliver Wood the Quidditch captain? Shouldn't he have left school by now?"

Harry's cock was wet, now, the way it got, and it was hard to form sentences. "Oh, yeah," Harry said, sliding into Remus's grip. He hadn't been pulled off since that time with Oliver, unless he counted himself. "He came back to. God. He came back. For the. Wow."

"Tell me," Remus urged, turning Harry on his side and sliding behind him now, his cock pressed against Harry's back, close enough to Harry's arse that Harry was losing the capacity for coherent thought.

"Ravenclaw game," he managed. "Scouting. Stayed and caught me in the changing rooms."

"You and he would make a pretty picture," Remus said, low and rumbling in Harry's ear. "Did he fuck you?"

"Almost, we. He had me. Fingers. But he came before he could. Get in me. And then Ron came back."

"Oh dear, and Ron caught you?" Remus's hands worked faster now; Harry thought he might actually die of pleasure.

But men had lived through this. Harry himself had done, this much. "I saw Ron and oh, God, right there, please ... I saw him and then I came."

"While he was watching? Kinky," Remus approved, and now he slid out from behind Harry, too soon. Way too soon, and Harry started to reach for him, but instead Remus pushed Harry by his shoulders onto the bed, his whole weight pinning Harry down.

He would die. Remus was sucking him off.

He'd never had anyone do this to him before. Just his weekly practice sessions with Zacharias. He'd never been on the receiving end, hot slick soft wet _brilliant_...

He let his hips thrust the way they wanted to -- Remus could take all of him, right down his throat. Harry wanted to learn that, he thought, the last thought before sense left him. And then Harry came, longer and harder than he'd thought was even humanly possible.

He didn't die of it, though.

"You're beautiful," Remus told him, lifting his head up and kissing the inside of Harry's thigh. "Whatever possessed me not to have you?"

"Nobility," Harry said. "It was well-meant. But stupid."

"Well, you can take the wizard out of Gryffindor, I suppose." Remus began to lick the come from Harry's thighs, and lifted Harry's leg over his shoulder, licking down further, licking him in places he hadn't even known were legal. He heard Remus murmur two spells, one a standard bathing spell, the other summoning a small vial from the other side of the bed.

Remus's tongue was on his arsehole.

It was on. His tongue. On.

Harry felt something like a wail leave his throat. He felt manhandled and held and tasted, and God, he felt like crying, it felt so good, and that was all Remus needed to see --

"Shhh. It's normal," Remus said. "Let it come." And Remus's fingers, slick with the summoned oil, pressed into him, and Harry was half-lifted off the bed and he was getting hard again, which after he'd come so much before seemed impossible.

Remus turned him over, then, just flipped him like he was insubstantial, and pushed Harry's head down, lifting his arse up. This was what Oliver had tried, and Harry was happy for the familiarity. He was amazed at how much more it felt than when Oliver'd done him, now that he he was pressed down into the pillows of Remus's bed, which smelled of Remus and sweat and sex. Harry wondered if Remus had ever fucked Sirius like this, strong and confident, in this same bed.

Wondered who had fucked who, but came down to imagining Sirius in his own place, Remus' fingers twisting inside of him, whispers at the back of his neck as he wailed.... Harry couldn't stop making noise, now that Remus had given him permission, and he was glad of the Imperturbable charm on the walls and the door.

"Tell me again. What you want," Remus was sucking on his earlobe, and Harry'd never even thought to try that with anyone, it felt incredible... "Tell me what you want."

"Do it," Harry gasped. "Take me. Fuck me. Please."

And it was not even a second later that Remus's slick cock was pushing into him, not too quickly, and it hurt, but Harry'd experimented enough to know what would come, if he could just breathe in and take it and be patient.

"Perfect," Remus told him, and the next sound he made was incoherent. Harry pushed against of him, eager to take more of him inside. And then Remus held Harry down with a hand on his back and Harry forgot about pain or being careful or being adult enough, and just let Remus slide inside of him, let whatever noise they were going to make come. He was hard again and he felt Remus's big hand on his cock, right next to his own; they both pulled Harry off as Remus began to thrust in earnest.

Remus found the perfect spot, then, and apparently Harry communicated this somehow, because he kept hitting it until Harry came. Again. Maybe harder.

And then Remus actually pushed Harry's head down into the pillows, where Harry was afraid he might suffocate, except that the _pound pound pound_ of Remus's cock was just too good for him to complain. And then Remus made a silent sort of groan and came, just in time for Harry to breathe again.

"I'm sorry, I push sometimes, I forget," Remus said hastily, and Harry gasped, "It's fine, it's perfect, shut up," and then they laughed, and kissed, and Harry felt something like happiness, for the first time since forever.

Remus shifted around Harry, a little awkwardly, spooning under him. "Arms," he said, as they tangled themselves up in each other, which led to more laughter as they started batting at each other for primacy.

Then Remus pushed Harry back down again and kissed him, and Harry thought about where their mouths had been, which was entirely kinky and perfectly fine. They kissed a long time, which Harry had never really done before, just snogging with someone.

Much less with Remus.

Best Christmas _ever_.

Remus subsided, then, and Harry cuddled in toward his shoulder, which was practically as good as the shagging. Remus was warm and very strong, and Harry felt safe, for once, to simply let sleep overwhelm him.

"We've got to get you back before dawn," Remus reminded him, and Harry nodded.

Harry brushed his fingers over the amulet at Remus's throat. It suited him. "Can I stay with you tomorrow?" He felt Remus tense, and added, "During the change. Be some company."

"I shouldn't be around humans," Remus said. "Not even you. But --"

Harry sat up, interrupting him. "It's just -- look. I can't be Padfoot," Harry said, and kept talking past the grief in Remus's eyes. "I wouldn't even try, and anyway I'm bollocks at Transfiguration. McGonagall only took me in her class out of pity. I'm stuck in human form and I know, you should be so lucky." Remus still stared at him. "But it's Christmas, and it's the full moon, and if you've got to spend it transformed you should still spend it with family."

Remus stared up at the ceiling, then, away from Harry. "Is that what you think we are, Harry?"

Harry could almost hear Remus turning away from him, and he couldn't bear it. "It _is_ what we are," he said. "You're the family that I've got and I want to be with you. I'm sorry if it's stupid and fucked-up."

"It's not stupid," said Remus, instantly contrite, and he pulled Harry back down against him and they lay together for a while. "It is fucked-up," Remus added after a while, his fingers in Harry's hair.

"I know," said Harry. "Can I come tomorrow?"

"Moonrise is just before nine o'clock," said Remus, and Harry felt something give way in his chest, something that might have been joy. "Bring your wand. And something to read. There's a pile of Muggle mysteries in the library."

"Thank you," said Harry, and he meant it. He kissed Remus again.

"We can't keep doing this," Remus said. "I'll be useless for most of the rest of your holiday anyway --"

Though he wasn't trying for legilimency, Harry heard the other unspoken reasons: James. Lily. Sirius. Albus. Molly. More names from whom Remus had earned a fragile trust. He heard Remus's need to be part of the Order, his fear that this new secret would alienate him from the few friends he had.

"I know," Harry said, ignoring the disappointment in his stomach. "I knew it was just this once when we did it. It's okay."

"You're unbelievable," Remus said, kissing Harry's hair, "and I'll never stop wanting you."

"You can have me whenever you want," said Harry. "Or not. I still -- we're still what we are. Whatever that is." He tried to keep his voice from shaking. It was the closest he'd ever come to saying _I love you_.

"You run with me," said Remus, so softly that Harry could tell that it meant something to him.

Harry turned in Remus's arms and kissed his jaw. "Not so much running as curling up and reading Sherlock Holmes."

"Same thing, I should think." Remus kissed his way down Harry's neck, down his shoulder. "We've got until morning, anyway," he said, sliding his hand down to Harry's waist.

Harry grinned. Dawn was hours and hours away.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at the request (or demand, rather) of BanSidhe and Cereta. Also, I wanted to make sure I got in a round of comfort sex before _Half-Blood Prince_ ~~utterly scuttled the 'ship~~ started in with the killins.
> 
> Ellen Fremedon, Kass, and Starfish betaed it at a record speed, and Alanna, who was staying with Ellen and me at the time, put up with the mad pre-HBP ficfest/obsesso-wibble in the household. Good times.


End file.
